


Wet Dreams

by evieplease



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Occult, Smut, evieplease, ghost Gran, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9842744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evieplease/pseuds/evieplease
Summary: Tom keeps waking from the same dream every morning. So does someone else. Point of view alternates between Tom and Victoria. Mostly PWP.





	1. Tom

I came awake with a gasp and a low cry, release rushing out of me in a hot pulsing beat, my head pressed hard into my pillow, balls tight, abdomen rigid, and thrusting against the sheets, milking out the last few spasms.  
Again.  
My body finally begins to unclench as I turned over and stared bewildered at the ceiling of my bedroom, the early dawn light barely illuminating the room. This was the sixth morning in a row that I’d awoken in the midst of a wet dream. A fucking hot, make me cum all over the sheets wet dream, for fuck’s sake.  
The dream is the same, always the same. The scent of her arousal heavy in my nostrils, curling and wrapping around my brain. Every breath of her scent threatening my control, driving me to give her completion.  
The taste of her, hot on my tongue and lips, her juices wetting my chin and cheeks, slicking the inside of her thighs, running between her cheeks, wetting the sheets below her, below us. The feel of her silky thighs brushing against my face, knowing the stubble on my chin is chafing against her tender skin, turning it pink.  
Her hips undulating against my mouth. I can hear her moaning and gasping, crying out my name. I have a forearm wrapped low on her hips, trapping her, holding her hips down for my tongue, my lips, my teeth, as I lie between her thighs, her hips spread wide and kept open by my shoulders. She’s settled both her feet on the back of my hips, pushing against my body, her toes nearly gripping and pinching me at times.  
The first two fingers of my free hand are buried in her. Hot and wet, and rippling around my fingers, the pads of my fingers caressing her cervix, soft and pliable, like her lips, my hand stroking in and out of her in time with the movement, the lapping of my tongue over her clit.  
Her fingers on my head, in my hair, stroking through my curls, tracing my jaw, or an ear. Her fingers beginning to wind in my hair, clutching and pulling my mouth against her.  
I drag my fingers slowly out and back in, changing rhythm. I hear a frustrated high whine, and smile against her lips, chuckling into her pussy, denying her, making her wait, building her again, higher. I pull back just slightly and blow over her wet clit and lips, holding her open for the tantalising touch of cool air….she cries out in surprise, her hips trying to buck upwards, but held pinned to the bed by my grip.  
My tongue swirls…  
My fingers find the ridges on her front wall and stroke against it. I tap against it, her voice becomes a low groan with every strike. Stroking against that spot and pushing against it, I hear the hitch in her breath, the rhythmic pant and gasp that heralds her climax.  
I look up the length of her body, past the dark curls, up the gentle slope of her belly and navel. Over ribs and diaphragm heaving for breath. Up to the swelling undersides of two gorgeous breasts, rippling and bouncing independently of her movements, of the rest of her body.  
Up her chest and neck to her face, flushed a delicate pink and heated, a sheen of perspiration glistening on golden skin, surrounded by a riot of long, dark, chestnut waving hair, spread in a glorious just-fucked halo over the bed, one strand stuck to the damp skin of her cheek, small baby fine wisps clinging in front of her ears and along her hairline.  
A plump raspberry mouth, beestung and swollen from the way she always bites her lips when she’s aroused. High cheekbones in a heart shaped face, a foxy pointed chin and firm jaw, a fine straight nose, winged dark eyebrows flying in high arches.  
She opens her eyes and looks straight into mine, and I feel an extraordinary flash of recognition jolt through both our bodies. Wide dark chocolate eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes. She takes my breath away.  
I become hyper aware of the fact she is on the cusp, and I am right there with her, every breath, every sensation, every sound heightening our trajectory toward release. I feel my cock under me, thrumming against damp sheets, smeared with my own pre-cum, my own tribute, throbbing in time with the thrusts of my tongue and fingers, feeling her rhythm in my own belly.  
Pushing my fingers up, pressing my tongue down, as if I’m trying to make the two meet through her flesh, I bring my other hand over and push down against her belly, the heel of my palm against her pubic bone and her sounds abruptly change, becoming deep wide spaced guttural groans.  
She ceases breathing, caught suspended over the chasm of her climax for several heartbeats, she clamps down over my fingers in a grip almost painful, for a long moment, before milking them, grasping at them, crying out my name. It echoes in my ears just as my balls burst, sending a hot rush through my cock, freezing all my muscles, thrust hard against the mattress, the taut coil in my belly snapping, feeling the searing cum spurting out of me, my whole being rushing forth, pouring out of me.  
And I wake in the midst of that orgasm. Every morning for the last six mornings.  
Always my first feeling is a terrible, crushing sense of loss…she’s gone. She’s not here with me where she belongs. She was with me and now she’s not. Gone… Loss and sorrow flood me.  
Always fast on the heels of that is the thought:  
Who is she?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria's POV

I woke arched, hips straining up as my pussy throbbed out the last of my dream, a scream echoing in my head.  
Again.  
God,at last all my muscles went limp and I fell against my bed. My god, how does this keep happening? After the first three mornings I decided I’d better stay away from the fanfic for a bit…but my abstention hadn’t helped.   
At all.  
Not that I should be complaining about the marvelous orgasms given me by my beautiful dream lover. I’m not, not really. Probably not. Definitely not. Oh, hell.  
But how strange, how creepy is it to have the exact same freaking wet dream six days in a damn row??  
And then, always the devastating sense of loss when I realise that he was never really between my thighs? Never really in my bed? The same dream over six mornings, the same blazing orgasm, the same…tears.   
I have to stop. This has to stop.  
I shivered. Dreaming of Tom Hiddleston eating me to an incredible climax every morning? Fucking hell. Fucking heaven. But christ, how messed up must I be to have the same wonderful…marvelous wet dreams six mornings running, and not be able to decide if I want them to stop?!  
My Gran would be cackling hysterically if she could know. I can just see her now, her head laid against her chair back, her body shaking and going limp as her laughter poured out of her mouth. She loved to laugh, my Gran. God, I miss that woman.  
Gran had the second sight. She’d said that I would know my ‘ain true love’ by the dreams. I want to cry. If Tom Hiddleston is my 'ain true love’, then I’m destined to live a lonely life. Because when would I ever chance to meet him, never mind to know him? Gran was a nutter, just as Mum had always said. She had to be. Right?  
I fell back against the bed, my arm over my eyes, replaying the dream. It’s so real, so…god, so fucking incendiary! I can feel his forearm holding my hips down, the thrusting of his fingers into my core, playing with my cervix, his tongue swirling over my clit… And then, just…just as I’m on the edge, just about to cum all over his fingers, all over his face, the fucker backs off, changes up. And laughs his evil little laugh right into my pussy when I cry out in protest. Bastard. I grin. Yeah, that was good. Demon lover…  
But when he looks up my body into my eyes? That jolt? What the hell was that?? As if my soul was recognizing his…  
It’s crazy. I know it is. It’s just a damn dream. It means nothing. But, damn, I’ve been having this same insanely hot wet dream every morning since I’d moved here last week. Was it the house? The stress of relocation? Anxiety? Gran? Too much wine? Not enough wine?  
My mind wanders back to the dream. So good. So right. I’d never had sex so good…  
My fingers travel over my neck, as I lie in my bed, my eyes drifting closed as the images replay themselves. My hand reaches my breast, plucking and pulling the way his beautiful hands had, grasping and kneading.  
He’d trailed his mouth down my body. The scruff on his chin lighting up the skin of my belly, little scrapes and sparks… Oh my.  
And then he’d reached my mound. I had never known, never experienced a kiss there as…as sweet. As loving. He had kissed my pussy as if…exactly as if he were kissing my mouth. It almost felt as if my entire body needed to reach out to his beautiful mouth, to return the caress of his mouth.  
His hand had traveled down my hip, along the outside of my thigh to my knee, lifting and bending my knee, a single fingertip tracing up the back of my thigh, along the underside of my arsecheek, and very slowly, traced the cleft of my cheeks, deliciously over my perineum.  
My fingers imitate the delicious sensations of Tom’s face moving between my thighs, imagining his warm breath fanning out over my pussy, his scratchy cheek brushing repeatedly against the same spot on my inner thighs, warming and sensitizing the same slice of skin, the distracting and all encompassing sensation of his tongue, warm… no, scalding, as it moves from my entrance, after a far too brief exploration with a tongue-tip, sliding up through my folds as the tip of his nose drags slowly up over my clit, nudging and stroking, moving so slowly away…enticing, demanding that my hips follow, while at the same time he holds my hips pinned to the bed. Tom’s wicked mouth comes down on my clit, his fingers tapping and pushing up against my g spot, oh, heavenly!   
Tom’s other hand moved from holding my hips down to press hard low on my belly, and my impending orgasm changed from an urgent, singing need, to a deep barreling locomotive, forcing a climax so deep that I still feel a dark throb behind my navel… I’ve never felt anything like this. I have no idea if I made any actual noises, but the scream reverberating in my skull…  
I never knew that an orgasm could create actual white noise in your head as you cum. And fucking cum. My whole being feels sucked into my core and whirled in a maelstrom, then launched skyward…  
And then?   
And then I wake to an empty bed, the most incredible orgasm of my life throbbing through my body…and the awful sinking sensation of loneliness, aloneness, swelling in my throat…  
Choking me.   
'Gran,’ I think, 'If you weren’t already gone, I would seriously consider dispatching you myself for planting this nonsense in my head!’  
I can’t just have a lovely wet dream about a lovely celebrity, oh no! It has to be Thomas Fucking Hiddleston. I mean, what’s wrong with Renner? Or Cumberbatch? And I can’t just have A dream and a lovely filthy memory… No. I have to have the exact same fucking dream on six consecutive goddamn mornings!  
How? Fucking how does that even happen?  
I honestly could not say if I am currently the most blessed of women, or the most cursed, to be having this dream.  
'Gran, really?? You said that my 'ain true love’ would come to me in a dream, but dammit! I thought that was supposed to be a fucking metaphor! Dammit, Gran, don’t do this to me…!’  
I know it has to be my imagination when I hear her laughing her naughtiest, most mischievous giggle. And the barest suggestion of a kiss on my forehead…


	3. Chapter 3

I dragged my case into the high ceilinged foyer of my old house after me, setting it down, dropping my keys into the waiting bowl with a clatter, and turned to push the old wood and glass door shut with a firm shove. I need to get someone out to fix the lintel, I thought for the thousandth time. The old Victorian door and frame had warped over their many years. It’s honestly one of the things I love about this house, she’s showing her age, the old girl is.  
After locking the door, I just stood, eyes closed, breathing in the quiet, the only sound in the house the ticking of the old carriage clock on the mantle in the parlor. I’m so bloody knackered. Three days. I’d only been away three days! It had been a blast, Comicon, as always, the pace frenetic, the geeks fascinating, and the fangirls sweet and funny. But so exhausting.  
I hadn’t had the dream at all while I was away. Waking that first morning in LA, opening my eyes in the dim hotel room, I’d felt disoriented. I’m so used to waking up in hotel rooms that it generally doesn’t faze me anymore. It had taken me a moment of puzzling to figure out what was bothering me. One would think that I’d be relieved that I hadn’t awakened in in a twist of wet sheets again. One would be wrong.  
I wandered into the lounge and poured myself a drink. I shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t have the kip I’m about to take. It’s still mid-morning here, and I know that alcohol and out-of-time sleep will just make my jet lag worse, but somehow I can’t make myself care. I just want a sleep in my own bed. Perchance to dream…  
I’d become so used to the same waking every day for a week that it felt distinctly odd not to wake in the midst of a wet dream. I’d come to expect them, even if they left me somewhat unnerved. At first, it was just as if I had missed a step, that stumbling, slightly off-kilter feeling.  
But as the day had progressed I’d had this nagging sensation of…missing her. As if I’d missed a telephone call with her. I found myself glancing up frequently as I spoke to interviewers, as if I expected to catch sight of her, as if I were waiting for her to join me. By the end of the day I’d felt jumpy with it.  
I went to bed each night half expecting and half hoping that I’d dream of her again. But the morning light would creep into the room, and I’d wake and stare at the ceiling.   
I missed her.  
I swallowed the last of my drink and set the glass down. Scrubbing my hands through my hair, I half shouted “Fuck!” just to make a noise in the too quiet house, and to release a bit of this tension. Damn. You’re losing it mate…  
I went to my room, stripping and dropping my clothing on the way into the bath. Started the shower, brushed my teeth. Had a pee.  
Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water pound down on the back of my neck and shoulders for long minutes, my palms planted on the tiles where I leant, head bowed, trying to clear my head of the cobwebs of too many time zones in too short a time. Eventually, I washed quickly, stepping onto the mat to dry. Rubbing my hair dry with a towel, I walked into my bedroom, stopping at my dresser for a pair of pants.  
I’d taken to wearing pants to bed, of all things! So much easier than stripping the bed and washing sheets every day. I’d done it to spare the hotel maids in LA, not that I…  
I dropped onto the bed, head in my hands. Maybe I should see someone…  
Oh yes, there’s a conversation I really want to have! Not.  
“Doctor, I’ve been having the same wet dream for a week about the most delicious girl I’ve never met! Now the dreams have stopped, and I can’t think for worrying about her!”  
“You’re complaining about nightly nocturnal emissions?? Perhaps we’ll just arrange for a nice quiet stay in hospital, here take the nice pills, there’s a good lad…”  
I huffed a laugh. I’m fairly certain that my doctor, who is a plain spoken woman, would just tell me to be grateful for the release without all the bother of being involved in an actual relationship.  
I flopped gracelessly onto my back. The only person I know who would take me seriously is…Guillermo. I grinned at the ceiling. Man, he would eat this shit up with a spoon!  
My grin faded. I realise that I don’t want to share her. Telling anyone about her seems like…a violation of her privacy. How…odd. She’s just a dream. How can I be worried about violating the privacy of an imaginary woman? How can I feel jealousy at the idea of anyone knowing about her? How can I feel…protective of a figment of my imagination?  
Fuck, mate. You’re not just losing it, you’ve already gone round the twist.  
***  
I gave up trying to sleep. I’ve been lying here for about an hour, drifting and dozing, pushing her images out of my head, seeking her out. Nothing schizophrenic about that.  
I feel…haunted. My heart seizes for just an instant, my breath rushing out. Don’t be ridiculous, Hiddleston! I get out of bed, determined to stop being such a whiny little bitch, and just get on with my day.  
Dressing in jeans and an old tee shirt, I pad into the kitchen in my bare feet and fill the kettle, getting the tea started. I go get my iPad out of my messenger bag. I must unpack my case, get my laundry started, get the mail, get some groceries in, all the usual things. Tea first.  
I putter around getting the tea things out, prepping the pot, while I plot out the rest of my day. Catch up on email, check messages, return some phone calls. Call Mum.  
This old house is too quiet for me today. I put my iPod in the speaker dock and look for something soothing.  
Once my tea is ready, I stand drinking it at my kitchen window, looking out at the back garden. I really need to get out there. The lawn service does a good job of maintaining it, but getting my hands in the dirt is good therapy. Another thing Mum was right about as I was growing up… I’ve got some time between projects right now. Maybe I’ll get Mum to go out to the garden center with me.  
I got through my day, not as energetically as usual perhaps, but even The Great Tom Hiddleston is allowed to have an off day, right? I had to force myself to believe that it was not necessary to be the world’s dancing bear today. But I did all the things I needed to do.  
I spent a short evening on the settee, eating a decent local Indian takeaway, and watching one of the Game of Thrones episodes that I’d missed. Three quarters of the way through, I was done. I tossed the last bit of vindaloo and tidied away my meal before trudging up the stairs to my bed. Got my teeth brushed and a quick wash and trailed in to bed.  
I clambered into bed, and nearly immediately popped back out to search for a pair of socks to sleep in. I don’t know why my feet are icy in July, but I honestly didn’t give a damn. I was nearly desperate to lay my head down on my own pillow…  
Uhhh. I heaved a sigh as I dragged a pillow into my arms and sprawled onto my belly. I dropped off nearly immediately.  
…Her scent is invading my nose, my brain. I rub my scruffy cheek over her lips, and lick a long stripe up through her folds… I’m dreaming? Mmmm.  
I’m so grateful to have her under my tongue again. I turn and kiss her sweet thigh in pure thankfulness.  
She gasps. "…Tom?“  
I look up to find her looking back at me in bewilderment. That jolt of recognition hits me again, but this time…  
What? My dream, my dream is….different. It’s always been the same, oh god yes, but now it’s different. And I’m aware it’s different. I’m aware I’m dreaming. Does that happen?  
I sit up slowly back on my heels, glancing around the room. It’s familiar, with it’s tall dormered windows, the rose and gold dawn light breaking through, the dark blue carpeting, white linens rumpled on the bed, pillows scattered. It’s the same familiar room that I have vaguely been aware of in my dreams. I know that door leads to her en-suite, and I know there’s a small green and purple stuffed dragon on the floor at the far side of the bed, one that normally resides on her pillow when the bed is made up. How do I know all that?  
My eyes are drawn back to her. She looks just the same as in all the other renditions of my dream. Except this time, instead of the gorgeous tortured look of wanton arousal on her face as she writhes under my mouth, she’s looking back at me in surprise and puzzlement.  
"This…is different.” she mutters, pulling herself up to sit against the headboard. "Shouldn’t you be…um, you know…?“ She gestures down at herself.  
I blink at her. "I don’t…I don’t actually know. Should I?” I’m more than a bit disconcerted by my dream going off script.  
She laughs. "For a dream lover, you’re not very cooperative, are you?“  
I reach up to rub my face in puzzlement and stop, staring at my hand as I realise that both my hand and my face are wet. Wet with her juices. I lick my lips and taste her again. Alright, this is just…  
I look down at myself, kneeling between her legs, my cock hard enough to drive nails and damn near purple and straining with need.  
She follows my look down. "That looks…painful.”  
As I drag my eyes over her lush body, my cock jerks. "Darling, you have no idea…“ I mutter.  
"Oh,” she says with a half smile, “I think I do…” Holding my eyes with hers, she slides her hand down her body to her pussy, dipping a finger in, stroking over her lips.  
I reach out impulsively and sweep her hand away. "That’s mine. Don’t touch.“ and lean forward, burying my face in her sweetness once again. My body falls easily into the marvelous sensations of the familiar dream. I feel her soft wetness against my lips, against my face, reveling in the scent of her as she pushes and pulls at me, fucking my tongue.  
My cock is throbbing against the sheet in time with the desperate noises coming from her mouth, in time with the helpless clutching of her pussy around my fingers…  
The scalding rush bursts from me as I rut against my bed, thrusting out the last few pulses. I lay gasping, joy and despair crashing over me…


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're liking the story, please leave kudos?

I sat at my desk in my home office, shuffling papers and books around, feeling disturbed and out of sorts. I need to concentrate. I need to finish setting up this project on the Victorian age fascination with the occult for the History Department. Preferably before the department chair appears in my office on campus wondering if the job isn’t too much for a woman…talk about Victorian age! Arse.

Dammit. Planting my elbows on the desk, I let my head fall into my hands. The moment my eyes close I can see him, the gingery-blonde curls, the wide forehead, the light blue eyes gleaming with mischief and lust, the smile lines fanning from his eyes deepening, his nose and mouth buried in me… Hell.  
A wave of exhaustion rolls over me. I glance at the clock. It’s only half ten in the morning, why should I feel so knackered? It’s not like I was awakened at the crack of dawn with a raging orgasm after all…

The weird run of identical wet dreams is over. However inexplicably they had begun when I moved in here, they had now ceased. I hadn’t had The Dream for the last three mornings. But who’s counting, right? I let out a humorless laugh. I miss him. No, it! I miss it! I miss The Dream, not him. I don’t even know him…he’s just a collection of random neurons firing in my brain while I sleep. My dream lover is not really Tom Hiddleston, and I’d bloody well better keep that straight. Of course he isn’t.

I picked up my teacup, but my tea had gone cold. I grimaced and stood, taking my cup with me to the kitchen to make fresh. Thank god I was able to work from home today. I’m not fit company. I smirked out the kitchen window, staring blindly across my back garden toward another of the old houses beyond the back garden fence, eyes vaguely tracing the gingerbread scalloping on its eaves.

After snapping at her several times, my teaching assistant, Kelly, had commented to me yesterday that I needed to get laid. Little did she know! I shouldn’t complain. It was unusual for me to have a wet dream, never mind the exact same wet dream six days running. Beyond weird.

I felt my breasts tighten and glanced down to find that I was absently rubbing my thumb across my own breast as I stood staring vacantly out of my kitchen window. I dropped my hand, blushing hotly. And why, exactly, am I blushing for touching myself in my own kitchen, with nobody around?!

I jumped and whirled around, feeling as if someone was standing behind me, watching me. But it was just the tea kettle beginning its whistle. Giving myself a shake, I pulled the kettle off the hob.

Tea made, I sat at the kitchen table, rubbing at the nicks and scars of a family life in the old wood. It’s my favorite piece of furniture in this marvelous old house that Gran had left me. I’ve loved this table since I was a child. Gran gave me tea at this table so many times after school, while Mum worked.

I sighed. "What am I going to do, Gran?“ I muttered into my tea. Mentally I smack myself. How about getting some actual work done instead of mooning around over the loss of a very disturbing dream, missing a man I don’t know, and talking to a dead woman? Jesus, get a grip! 

I took my tea back into my office and continued work on my project for the next hour or so, determinedly blocking out the unsettled feeling. 

But eventually the sense of restlessness drove me out. I grabbed my bag and laptop and stepped out onto the step, pulling the door shut behind me and searching my pockets for my keys to lock it. I walked round to the little nearby cafe that I’d found on my third day of living in the neighborhood. How is it that in all the times I’d been to Gran’s house, I’d never really explored the neighborhood around her house before I moved in?

I got a coffee and a scone and settled into the old leather armchair at the back of the cafe. I found myself rubbing my arms, soothing goose pimples that had suddenly run over my body with a chill. Probably just a passing draught.

The gorgeous bloke from behind the counter came out to bus the nearby tables, thoroughly distracting me. "Alright?” he asked with his friendly smile as he picked up dirty cups and paper serviettes, placing them in a plastic bin.

Oh yes. Everything is just fine, now.

His name tag says ‘Jon’. Dark hair curling around his ears and bright blue eyes. About my age. There’s a nice bulge of bicep under his shirt sleeve, and an arse to die for. Tall-ish.

Tall enough that I know I’d have to lean up on my toes to kiss him…  
Shit! What the merry hell is wrong with me?! It’s like all my hormones are on high alert. I realise with a jolt that I’ve been sitting there, elbow on the table, propping up my chin, and staring dreamily at this poor man, imagining all sorts of wicked things.

The bell on the door rang as someone stepped inside the cafe, and Jon glanced up at the door. I watched as his face underwent a transformation from polite interest to…thrilled, lighting up with a broad smile. I glanced over to see what, or rather who, had captured his attention so thoroughly.

Well, hell. A lovely blonde, shorter, slimmer, and more male than I. Rats.

I turned back to Jon with a rueful smile. "Go on, then.“

Jon flicked a look down at me, and he widened his eyes comically, as if to say 'Isn’t he pretty?’ I nodded and made shoo-ing motions with my hands. "Go on, off you go!” He didn’t need any more urging. Damn. It was still worth watching him walk away, though.

And where the hell did my usually reliable sense of gaydar get to?? Christ. I feel like I missed the bottom step. Off balance. Or maybe 'unbalanced’ would be a more accurate term. I shook my head and went back to my coffee and the papers I was grading.

I finished up an hour or so and two coffees later, packing up and making a quick trip to the shops before heading home. Laundry powder and shampoo. And milk. And chocolate. I got myself out as quickly as possible, before I spent any more time in the sweets aisle. At the last second I snagged a packet of hobnobs.

I walked home, feeling a twinge start in my lower belly. Of course! I’m in the middle of my cycle and I’m ovulating. That’s what it is. No wonder I’m craving chocolate and having those damned dreams! 

Except I’m not having those dreams now. Damn.

I stopped on my doorstep and set my bags down, so that I could fish around in my pockets for my keys, finally producing them and letting myself into Gran’s house.

Once more I tell myself that I should start thinking of it as my house. But of course that’s not going to happen. This has always been Gran’s house, and I expect it always will be. But I’m ok with that. I really miss the old girl. I dropped the keys back in my pocket and hung my coat, kicking off my shoes.

I puttered the rest of the day, doing laundry and the washing up, answering the texted photo of my young nephew that my brother sent, reheating soup for supper.  
I trailed up to bed, feeling unreasonably knackered, given the low-key day I’d had. I washed up and climbed into my bed, setting Fred the Dragon on my bedside table to keep watch as usual, pulling warm socks over my perpetually cold feet and snuggling deeply into my pillows with a heartfelt sigh of contentment.

“…Tom, fuck! …Tom!” I whined at him as he lapped up my folds, trying to wriggle against the band of his forearm across my hips. Tom hummed happily and turned his head to sweetly kiss my thigh and nuzzle his nose against it before…

Wait. What?

This is not the same… "Tom?“ I asked. This is new, too. I’d never talked to him in my dream. Shouted his name as I came, yes. But speak to him? No. This is too weird.

He looks up at me and there’s that jolt when our eyes meet. What the hell is that?

Wait. I’m aware that I’m dreaming. I scooted up against the headboard as Tom sat up and looked around. This is bizarre. He looks a bit confused and lost. Rather the way I feel right now… Why is it different this time?

"Umm, shouldn’t you be…” I trail off, not able to say 'eating me’ even to a dream Tom. I noticed his penis then, so hard and needy looking. I desperately wanted to reach out and touch it, him.

“That looks painful.” I said.

“Darling, you have no idea…” He growled.

Oh yeah. I think I do. Something flares deep inside me and I watch my hand trail down my body to touch myself. Tom pushes my hand away possessively, and buries his face in me once more.

“Oh fuck, that’s…yes!” I feel the pressure of wanting building again. Damn, he makes me feel so good…

I flew into wakefulness, coming hard, and tears spilling over onto my cheeks, running down into my ears. Even now, my hips are still straining up toward the phantom of his mouth.

I dash tears from my eyes as my heart leaps, remembering The Dream. He looked different, tired somehow. But the way his eyes had lit as he looked up at me… How odd. I thought he’d looked relieved, somehow.

I shake my head at my fancifulness. It’s a dream, silly girl. That’s all it is. Tom Hiddleston, Darling of the Fangirls, is not dropping by each morning to give me the best head I’ve ever had. Along with mind bending orgasms. My grin slid into a grimace. More’s the pity.

I thought about the changes in The Dream that had appeared exactly the same for six days, disappeared for three days, and has now returned with these very odd differences. How peculiar. Well, the whole business is peculiar, but this… It was almost as if instead of him being in MY dream, I was in HIS dream.

The dawn light is breaking through and around my curtains when I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I shivered and sat up, letting the sheet fall and groping my way out of bed. One thing; these early mornings… I’ve always been a late riser, luxuriating whenever possible in long mornings in my bed, and slow wakings, often not really getting started on my day until half ten in the mornings, even later on rainy days. But these wet dreams arrive only in the early morning hours, and after, instead of collapsing back into sleep for another 4 hours, I invariably find myself invigorated and leaping out of bed. I never normally move that fast in the mornings.

I feel like crying. And dancing. Oh christ in a teacup, The Dream is back, and I don’t know whether to be thrilled…or terrified.


	5. Chapter 5

I went about my days for the next week as needed, lunching one day with Luke to talk about future projects, but instead finding ourselves laughing and getting pissed together in the middle of the day. 

Rehearsals started for the play, I spent my days and evenings learning lines and blocking, getting to know my new cast mates and crew. Mum went to the garden centre with me one afternoon and we brought some daylillies home for planting in my back garden.

I had a beer with Ben one evening at his local, drooling over his baby pictures. I found myself quite unexpectedly yearning for his life, for offspring of my own. Bloody hell, the thing is contagious…!

After firmly putting Ben and his terrifying child out of my mind, I dealt with emails and phone calls and solicitations and scripts, all per usual. But the nights…

Oh, the nights.

“Fuck!” I shouted at my ceiling as soon as my orgasm subsided. I draped my forearm over my eyes, panting, waiting for my heart rate to slow. Yanking the sheet back I sat up, rubbing vigorously at my face and scratching through my hair. I don’t know how much longer I can bear this, and yet the thought of not seeing her every morning…

Right. I stood and strode into the bath, reaching in to start the shower and stripping off my cum-sodden pants, dropping them into the laundry hamper. I scrubbed my teeth and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run down my face. I washed, still sensitive from my orgasm, sluicing the remains of my cum down the drain.

I can’t get her, the dream, off my mind… I’m not at all sure that I want to. I groaned and leaned forward, putting my forehead and hands on the cool tile, and letting the hot water pound down on my shoulders and the back of my neck.

Bloody hell Hiddleston, get a grip! You have a brain, use it!

I thought over the dream that had become so familiar, tried to recall the nuances and the mood. Tried to deliberately pull back from my first-person experience, look at the whole picture. What is happening here? What is the story of what is happening between these two people?

The first thing that strikes me is that the action of the dream is all centered around her. I’ve had wet dreams before, of course, but as far as I can recall those dreams were all very ego-centric. I was at the center of the action. Those dreams were always about my pleasure, the woman’s pleasure merely a means to an end. My end.

A wet dream is, after all, the body’s ultimate physical indulgence in ego, one’s own body taking over, the body self-soothing itself without conscious direction all the way to release. It’s quite remarkable, really.

But in this dream she is the center, not my dream-self. The entire scene was about driving her to her completion, not my own. My own release seems almost an afterthought, the primary purpose was giving her an orgasm. And not just any orgasm. My dream-self didn’t just want to give her an orgasm, I needed to give her a screaming orgasm, with an intensity I had never felt before. When I succeeded in making her scream my name, it was her climax that drove my own release.  
I wouldn’t have thought it possible, even dreaming, to come without some attention to my cock, but come I did, entirely riding her ecstasy into my own oblivion.  
With a start, I realised that the entire time I’ve been thinking of the dream, of the woman, I’ve been thinking of her as a real person, no question, and not a figment of my fevered imagination. And yet, I know I have never seen, and certainly never slept with, this woman. In the dream she is no faceless woman, but a real woman rendered in exquisite detail.

In my mind’s eye I can still see the plump lips of her sex, one just the smallest bit longer than the other, the precise angle of her nipples, the small scar on her chin. Her eyes weren’t the soulless, flat eyes of a generic woman; real emotion, real lust, real personality flashed in those dark chocolate eyes.  
This is the most unnerving thing of all. The intimacy and familiarity of the woman, this nagging sense that she is a real woman somewhere, are so strong, how can she not be real? And yet, how can she possibly be?

I dwelt a bit on my own first-person experience of the dream. There was the slick feel of her juices on my mouth, on my cheeks and chin, cooling in the air. There was the glorious scent of her filling my brain and calling me to her. A siren’s call.

The taste of her, the particular balance of salt and sweet and woman’s musk, and the feel of her clit against my tongue. I can still feel the small knot of it on my tongue, just there, as I stroked and suckled it. The soft, wet, heat of her cunt around my fingers as I stroked them in her, and the strength of her intimate muscles as she clenched and spasmed surrounding my fingers.

The details are so sharp edged, so vivid, as a real memory, not some clouded soft-focus dream. My cock stirred despite my release not 20 minutes ago.  
This isn’t helping. I turn off the shower and dried off quickly. I hadn’t planned a run today, but…needs must. I quickly found my mobile and called Luke, rescheduling our meeting about future projects to tomorrow, and apologizing to him profusely for canceling at the last minute.

I found my running kit and dressed, compression shorts, tee and hoodie, strapping my mobile to my upper arm. I went quickly down the stairs, stepped into the kitchen for a drink of water, and snagged my house key out of the bowl on my way out.

I selected my running playlist and set it on shuffle. Inserting my buds, I ran through a quick rep of stretches, eager to get moving. I started off, turning left as usual. Starting slow and finding my stride, I looked toward the end of the block, just then noticing that the way was blocked up with street work. Shrugging, I turned and ran back the other way, no problem. I can go the other way round easily enough.

Running is my zen. It’s what I need to get some…peace in my head. Some perspective. It sorts me, physically and mentally.

But not today, apparently. My mind is churning with so many questions.

Why had the dream changed after being so predictable, so exactly the same for a week? Why had I not had the dream while I was away, and why had it reappeared when I returned home?

I round the corner and turn north again, beginning to feel the rhythm, the soothing awareness of my body working as it should. There’s an increasing breeze cooling my face. I stretch my legs, enjoying the pull of my muscles.

I resolutely pushed myself into my running, pushing away all thought, concentrating on the movement of my breath in my lungs, the strike of my feet on the pavement, the cool morning light, the sun not yet over the pitched roofs of the houses on the east side of the street.

When my body had reached that automatic movement and I was comfortably settled into my stride, my thoughts turned once again to last night’s dream, to the unexpected differences it manifested.

I recalled the moment when I became aware that I was dreaming, the overwhelming relief and thankfulness that impelled me to turn my head and kiss her thigh. Again I feel the softness of her skin, there on my lips, the slight salted tang of her, the scent of her arousal filling my head. I can vividly recall the feeling of our mingled moisture on my chin, the feel of the stubble on my jaw and cheek scraping across the tender dark pink interior of her lips as I turned my head, and the small, sharp twitch of her hips and indrawn gasp that she made at the sensation reverberating through her body, the fresh flood of moisture from her sex. My dream-woman’s responses so…real.

She had sat up at my unprecedented kiss, seemingly confused and questioning. That surprises me the most; that she reacted to my actions, and my own awareness of my dreaming state. She is my dream-woman. How could she come to awareness, herself? Why did it feel as though she were just as aware as I? Or was my dreaming self simply conjuring an appropriate reaction in my dream partner?

The whole thing is confounding. Having the dream reappear as it did…it’s bloody unsettling as it is. Is it something about the house? The dream never manifested while I was away, only replaying once I’d returned to my own bed. But I’d lived there for four years now, and never had a hint of strangeness until this…

The house is old, she often creaks and settles when the weather changes. There’s nothing odd about that.

Nonetheless, perhaps I’ll spend some time on the Internet today, doing a little research into the house’s history; if there’s any recorded.  
Still, there’s no sense that the woman is some relic from the past. I may be haunted, but she’s a thoroughly modern ghost, if so. With a small grin, I pictured the sour look Guillermo would undoubtedly give me for being haunted by a modern ghost. I can nearly hear him scoff and take the piss that I am unable to attract an older, and therefore more historically interesting apparition. Maybe I should call Guillermo.

Crap! A cat darted out directly into my path and the toe of my trainer caught on some unnoticed heave in the pavement and I fell right forward onto my hands and knees.

A bright flash of pain bloomed in my left knee. Shit! My breath explodes out of my lungs in a grunt. I roll, but it’s too late to save the damage to my knee.  
Sitting up, I shook my head clear and surveyed the damage. Minor scrapes on my palms and a bleeding cut on my knee. I bend the knee gingerly. It all seems to work, though I can tell that my kneecap is going to be quite sore tomorrow. Damn.

I stood to my feet carefully, testing my other leg, my back, my arms, twisting and bending and stretching to test their soundness. It all seems ok, except for the bleeding cut on my knee, and what feels like a bruise to the bone of my kneecap. I braced my foot on the step of the house I’d fallen in front of, bending to take a closer look.

I poked at it a bit. It needs proper cleaning and disinfecting, but I don’t think it will need stitching, even if it is bleeding freely. Now that would be a proper bit of humiliation, sitting in A and E with people who genuinely need medical attention, waiting to get my boo-boo stitched up!

The door at the top of the steps opened suddenly and a woman backed out, juggling her bags, apparently searching for her keys, fumbling with the lock on the door. Great, now I’ll have to explain that I’m a clumsy tit who can’t keep to his feet, to a strange woman who could probably not care less.

She turned and I stared upward in shock, my mouth falling open. It’s her! My god, it’s the woman! The woman from my dream! The woman of my dreams… I froze staring up at this apparition come to flesh and blood life. A chill wind swirled around me suddenly.


	6. Chapter 6

I took longer than usual to get out of the house this morning, considering the fact that I’d been so turned on by The Damn Dream that I hadn’t been able to resist having another go in the shower. Not that I tried very hard. To resist, that is.

Finally showered and dressed, I decided to pop down to the little cafe on my way to campus for a scone with my morning tea. I snagged my bag and hopped around dementedly in my front hall trying to get into my flats. I slid my finger into the back, tugging the heel straight as I wobbled on one foot, barely managing to get it fixed before I fell over.

Searching my pockets for my keys, I opened the front door, turning as I stepped outside to pull it shut, I locked the door and dropped my keys into my pocket. I glanced around for the first time in the cool morning air.

My breath stopped and my body froze. There at the bottom of my steps, one trainer braced on a higher step, bent over a blood smeared kneecap and staring back at me, his mouth fallen open in surprise: Tom. Tom Freaking Hiddleston.

The hair rose on the back of my neck, and goose pimples raced over my skin as I stood staring down into those so familiar blue-green eyes and swayed. That jolt of whatever-the-hell-it-is hit me. Shit! I fumblingly put out a hand to catch my balance on the stair rail.

Tom was there in a flash, bounding up the steps to catch my elbows.

“Steady on!” he said in an anxious voice, scant inches from me, looking down into my face.

I must have looked equally as unnerved as I felt, for his expression rapidly slid into concern. I almost heard Gran’s voice in my ear. We are not a cod fish, Victoria! I snapped my mouth shut.

“Are you alright?” He glanced around quickly, and led me to the top step, urging me to sit down with gentle hands and little murmurs of encouragement. I thumped down onto my bottom, and his big hand on the back of my neck pushed my head between my knees.

I managed a couple of deep breaths and forced enough oxygen into my brain to stop the world spinning around me and notice the large hand stroking soothingly up and down my back. I opened my eyes and saw a large pair of trainers on the step below mine, felt a warm thigh pressing against my hip. Oh my god…

I sat up and opened my mouth to tell him that this was insane. Impossible. Preposterous. But just then a strong gust of wind swirled around us, buffeting us, and an ominous rumbling came from overhead. We both glanced skyward to find the leading edge of a terrifyingly enormous black thunder cloud nearly overhead, and the daylight rapidly dimming. The gust hit the front door, rattling it on its hinges, just as the first fat drops of the storm splatted down on us.

Tom rapidly assessed the fast moving, oncoming storm. He stood, drawing me up with him.

“Keys?” he asked, holding his hand out while giving the sky over my shoulder a worried glance. Thunder rattled not far off. His eyes turned back to me as I scrabbled in my pockets for my keys, just as the deluge started in earnest, in a drenching downpour.

Tom grinned. "They’re in your left pocket, darling,“ he nearly shouted over the storm, as a fierce rain laden gust of wind battered us. Tom is already soaked through, his hair dripping. My light jacket was no protection. I felt icy drops sliding down my neck.

Sure enough, my left hand closed over my keys and pulled them free of my pocket. Tom scooped the keys out of my hand and turned, inserting the key in the lock in one smooth move. He cast one last quick look at the sky as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, reaching for my elbow to pull me inside, a fresh gust of wind and rain nearly knocking us through the door and swirling through the hall.

Both of us laughing at the sudden cold dousing, he pulled me over my doorstep and pushed the door shut against the wind just as lightning cracked nearby, startling a yelp out of me and and making us both jump.

I moved to look out the window near the door at the storm outside, Tom right behind me. We must be directly under the storm cell, the furiously gusting wind pushing rain in bursts against the window, rattling it in its frame. Another nearby strike of lightning cracks so loudly I’m almost surprised the house didn’t explode around us. As it is I’m nearly deafened, and all the hair on my body is standing right up.

Tom turned wide eyes toward me and his tongue darted out to lick a drop of rain from his lips.

"That was close! Um, perhaps I could ask sanctuary of you until the storm passes?” He looks a little pleading, as if he believed I might actually turn him out.

“Well of course you can have sanctuary! I wouldn’t put a dog I didn’t like out in this! My Gran would surely never leave me alone if I put you out!” I made a mock fearful face and he laughed.

“Is she here?” He glanced upward.

“Gran? Oh no, she passed a month ago. Come on, let’s get dry, I’m freezing!”

I started to pull off my sodden light jacket, intending to toss it onto the hook by the door, but Tom appeared and assisted, holding the thing for me as I slid out of it, then turned and hung it properly on a hanger in the coat closet. I’ll probably never find it again…

I clutched and rubbed at my goose pimpled arms. I glanced down at myself, shaking my head at the thin blouse and chiffon skirt I’d worn this morning, which had gone nearly transparent in the wet, leaving not much to the imagination.

I jerked my head at him to follow me and started toward the stairs, leading him up to the guest bath upstairs.

“I’m sorry to hear that…” 

I blinked. It took me a moment to realize that he was offering condolences on my Gran’s death.

“Um, no worries. Anyway, I’m not too sure she isn’t still hanging about, the way this old house of hers creaks and groans!” I grinned back over my shoulder, to find his eyes locked firmly on my wet skirt covered arse as I climbed the stairs. 

“She’d have been damn sorry to miss this, though!” I grinned, running my eyes over his clinging wet tee shirt appreciatively.

He yanked his eyes upward, a slash of pink starting across his cheeks his only indication that he knew he had been caught staring.

“Yes, my old house creaks and groans as well, especially in weather like this.” he tried casually. I gave him points for carrying on, though.

“Here we are.” I showed him into the guest bath, pulling a towel off the rack and handing it to him.

“I’m Tom, by the way.” He briefly introduced himself. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I knew who he was, but jeez, wouldn’t that lead to an awkward conversation?

I nearly introduced myself in turn as ‘Vicky’, but I had an uncanny reminder that Gran had always insisted that names have Power. Gran had always called me by my full name, never just Vicky as Mum did. I darted a glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Gran, but naturally there was no one there.

I held out my hand to him with a grin, thinking to placate her spirit (it couldn’t hurt, right?), and made a little curtsy.

“Victoria Alice Woodville at your service!”

Tom glanced around the room quizzically, then took my hand and twinkled down at me.

“I’m very glad to meet you, Victoria Alice Woodville. Thomas William Hiddleston at yours!” He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "Are we channeling 'The Hobbit’?“

"Not slow on the uptake, are you Thomas William?” I swear I felt a ghostly pat on the back for my use of his full name. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to banish Gran from my thoughts. This is weird enough without thinking my dead Gran is communicating with me from the beyond!

Tom was looking down at our joined hands, his brow furrowing before he looked back at me. Our eyes met, and damn me if I didn’t feel that familiar jolt of recognition. No. It has to be the weirdness of having Tom Hiddleston, of all people, here in my home…

Tom stills. "Do I…know you, darling?“ he asked, something flaring in his eyes. I don’t know, don’t have any idea what to say, pulling my eyes from his, I looked away from his face. This is just too weird by half. I glanced down and spotted the watered pink and red trails of blood trickling from the gash on his knee.

"Jesus, Tom!” I gasped, “You’re bleeding! Sit down! Let me…!” I frantically stepped up to him, my hands out to guide him to the available seat to get him off his injured leg. I bounced off a chest wall that moved not at all.

“Thomas!” I objected, looking up into his face. "Dammit, sit down!“

He smiled at my fluster. "If you insist.” He turned and pushed himself up and back onto the vanity, spreading his knees wide, giving me access to his injured knee. Without, thank you dear god, making me crouch on my knees in front of him. I’m not sure that I could have maintained any decorum at all with his groin at eye level.

I tried to be as brisk and matter of fact as I could, asking him questions about how he’d come to injure himself and admonishing him to hold still, warning him of the sting of cleaning the gash- which turned out to be more minor than I’d feared. Grateful to have something to talk about other than the fact that I’ve been molesting him in my sleep for more than two weeks… I mustn’t give him any reason to think that I’m anything other than the woman in whose house he is sheltering through the storm.

Keeping my head down, I can feel my cheeks redden at the thought of attempting somehow to explain to him… No. I’m sure the poor man already puts up with plenty of bizarre over-familiarities from random crazed fangirls. No reason to make him think that he’s trapped with another such.

Taping his bandage down at last, I stood back. "There. How does that feel?“

He flexed his knee. "It’s fine. Thank you for patching me up, Victoria.” he said, reaching to squeeze my hand, his eyes meeting mine. I repossessed my hand before I made a fool of myself.

“Get out of your wet things,” I instructed, “and dry off. I’ll go rummage through my brother’s room to see if he’s left behind anything that you can wear while we put your stuff in the dryer.” I marched out and pulled the door shut behind me, much as it pained me to do so.

I went down the hall to the room that my older brother had occupied before he married, betting that he’d have left a few things behind. I found an old pair of sweats and a very old, large Quidditch tee shirt there. I knocked on the bathroom door and handed the clothing through when he opened it, catching a glimpse of Tom standing in just a towel wrapped around his waist.

Murmuring about getting myself dry and dressed, I managed not to bolt down the hall to my room. Saunter, that’s the ticket…

I stripped off and toweled myself dry in my bath, hurrying through to my dresser for dry underthings, jeans, a tee shirt and cardi, pulling them on as rapidly as possible. I twisted my damp hair up in a clip.

“Victoria, where should I…” I heard his voice in the hall as I was closing my dresser drawer with a pair of thick socks in my hand for my icy feet. I turned as I heard his gasp, and saw him standing in rigid shock in my bedroom doorway. I watched the blood drain right out of his face.

“Goodness, Tom! Are you alright?! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Wide blue eyes moved from flicking over the room to my face.

Alarmed, I took a couple of steps toward him and put my shoulder under his, thinking that he looked faint. I looked up at his face in concern as he looked down. Lightning brightened the window several times as thunder cracked and boomed again. He looks a bit spooked.

Tom shook his head and his lips tightened, clearly coming to some decision. His shaking hand came up and cupped my cheek, his eyes flickering over my features, a crease between his eyebrows.

“Victoria, you…this room…there’s no mistaking it. I’ve been here before…haven’t I?”

I felt the blood drain out of my own face. He can’t mean…? Oh dear god, he does.

I watched as his eyes found my lips and he leaned in slowly, telegraphing his intention, giving me ample opportunity to pull away. He brushed his lips over mine as my breath stopped. Kissing. I’m being kissed by Tom…

Pulling away, he licked his lower lip as if testing my taste on his lips, his eyes intent, watching me for my reaction. My tongue imitated his, his taste so familiar. How could he taste exactly as I remembered from my dream? How could he KNOW?

Whatever he saw in my face must have convinced him that he was welcome, for his other hand drew me from under his arm and fit me to his body.

“Victoria darling, I don’t know how…” his voice hoarse, “…but I honestly don’t care right now,” he muttered almost to himself. "For now…will you kiss me?”

I nodded. I don’t know how this is happening either, but he seems to feel the same connection that I do. Somehow. But I won’t let speculations and explanations derail the desire, and oddly, hope, that I see in his face at this moment. They can wait. I…can’t.

I put my hands on his chest and leaned up on my toes for another kiss, and this time he didn’t hold back, taking my mouth as if determined to taste every part of it. My head whirled, but it wasn’t faintness, it was the rapid relocation of all the blood in my body southward…


	7. Chapter 7

Her mouth tastes just as it should, and I find myself sinking into her kiss, all my cares and concerns about the uncanniness of the situation brushed away on the warm velvet of her lips. I cradle her head in my hands as my lips explore her mouth, finding her both new and familiar at the same time. Her still slightly damp hair clings to my fingers as I brush the heavy mass behind her shoulder, running my hand down her back and pressing her body to mine.

She fits against me in exactly the way I knew she would, and I feel myself harden against her softness. She pushes herself against my body with a little curious noise.

Breaking the kiss, I muttered into her hair.

“Victoria… please…will you explore this with me?”

I nearly held my breath as I waited for her to respond. This is far too soon, too fast, I know. But I cannot risk letting this woman out of my arms before I know…  
She looked up at me with searching, serious eyes. She must share my fear…? Her eyes softened and she nodded.

“Yes. Oh yes please, Thomas.” she answered quietly, going up on her toes to whisper against my lips. Oh thank christ.

I slid my hands under the hem of her tee, feeling the silk of her warm skin under my fingers, tracing up her ribs as her mouth bloomed under mine, her arms around my neck. Sliding my hands under her bottom, I lifted her and walked us the few short steps to her bed, laying her gently down.

Glancing up at her pillows, I saw the little purple and green dragon that guards her bed and plucked it up, setting it on her bedside table. "There you go, Fred.“ I murmured, before turning back to her. Her eyes were wide as she watched, looking a little unnerved.

"Shhh…it is what it is. Questions later? Right?” I traced a finger over her lips, hoping like hell that she would not break the spell.

“…Right,” she breathed. She closed her eyes, obviously giving in to the moment, and opened her mouth under my fingers, her tongue darting out and swiping my fingertip. She reached down and pulled her shirt off, undulating her body in the most tantalising way to pull it from under her. Braless and beautiful.

Dear god, these gorgeous breasts… My hands reached to touch, to caress, to weigh them in my palms. So soft, her skin delicate and perfect. My thumb brushes across the rosy brown of her nipple and it immediately puckers up. I hear her gasp with the contact and quickly look up into her face to find her chin tucked down, watching my hand caress her breasts, biting her bottom lip.

She raises her eyes to mine, and again I feel that flash of recognition as I meet her chocolate eyes. For an instant she looks vulnerable and scared.

“This is real… isn’t it?” she whispers, asking for reassurance. Her hand slides over top of mine on her breast and she squeezes lightly, as if testing the reality of my hand on her breast.

“Dear god, I hope so…” is all the reassurance I can offer her. I reached behind my head and pulled my borrowed tee shirt off over my head, dropping it on the floor. Her hands hovered over my chest. My breath hitched at the prospect of her hands on my bare skin.

“Please do, darling…” I watched as she set her warm hands on my chest, and felt my own flat nipples draw up under her palms. I pulled in a deep breath at the sensation, my chest expanding and pushing harder into her hands.

One soft hand slid up my chest and over my shoulder, fingers toying with the short hair at the back of my neck. She tugged me forward into a kiss, running her soft open lips across mine, breathing in my air, her breath playing over my lips before she met my tongue with hers. Her other hand began to scrape lightly at my nipple with her fingernails, my breath catching as sparks seemed to arrow straight to my cock with each small twist and tug.

I rolled her over to straddle me, her glorious breasts swinging free over me and her gleaming chestnut hair hanging in curtains around us, enclosing us. Cupping her cheek I brought her face down to mine for a long slow kiss, sweet and familiar, new and unbearably exciting.

She lifted her head and smiled at me, then sat up as my hand trailed down her neck to her breast. Her eyes heated as I ran the back of my knuckles along the tender underside, knowing that she was sensitive there. Turning my hands, the weight of her breasts in my palms seemed the most perfect thing under heaven, as I plumped and kneaded them.

I sat up and leaned her back over my arm so that I could suckle at her breast, the sweetest mouthful ever. My other hand dropped to the button on her waistband. I raised my head and lifted an eyebrow in a silent appeal for permission.

She murmured assent and I opened her jeans, pulling the zipper down ratchet by ratchet in a slow tease. I let my fingers brush and tease at the edge of her knickers before skating down over her soft mound, stroking and playing with her through the fine damp fabric, listening to her gasp and feeling her push up against my fingers.

My eyes fell shut and I took a long slow breath in, letting her scent fill my head. I groaned as my mouth flooded. I must taste her. Now.

She yelped in surprise as I pushed her off me onto the bed and rapidly divested us both of our remaining clothing. She giggled a bit as I lost balance trying to kick out of a trouser leg in my rush. I grinned back and shrugged, then growled playfully at her as I knelt between her thighs, falling onto my hands over her. I looked down at her flushed face, wanting to devour her.

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. "My, what big teeth you have, Thomas.“

I took my cue. "All the better to eat you with, my dear.” I leaned over her onto my hands, and snapped my teeth in her ear.

She squeaked and laughed her husky laugh as I scattered small bites and licks over her body as I moved down, until reaching her mound, I bite down just lightly on the pad before kissing her there.

I pushed my tongue through her sweet, wet folds and circled around her clit. With one hand I open her with my fingers, watching her dark pink secrets flower before me. And the scent of her…the scent of her is home, beloved and familiar. I don’t question it now.

Her hands slide into my hair with a moan, her hips jutting upward to meet my mouth. I push a finger, and then two, into her, feeling her oh so soft, swollen tissues give way around me. A voluptuous groan spills from her mouth, and I feel it vibrate in my own belly.

I can barely restrain my need to lick, suck and nibble on every part of her, to pay her homage, to worship her, to devour her. Finding the little ridged patch inside, right where I knew it would be, I stroke over and over it, feeling her hands tighten in my hair.

Now. I draw her clit between my lips and suckle as she cries out. There, there is the knot of her clit on my tongue, as it should be. I can feel my balls tightening and pulling up, begging for release as she begs me.

Abruptly her grip in my hair changes from tugging me against her to pushing me away, crying out, “No! No, please…!”

I pulled away and looked up her body to her face in question, to see tears tracking down her cheeks into her hair, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.  
“My darling, what’s wrong?” I moved to nuzzle her face and kiss her tears away.

"You’ll make me come and The Dream will be over… I’ll wake up alone again, you’ll be gone…” Her arms wrap around me, clinging to me. I returned her embrace.  
If truth be told, I felt a little bit of that fear myself. To have her snatched away once again…but this is real. She is here, and I am here.

“This is no dream, but if it were, I swear I would find you again. We are not through, you and I. Come for me, love…”

I bent my head back to her sweet taste, mercilessly pushing her back to the top of the cliff and straight off, giving her no choice but to fall.

She cried out, “Thomas!” as she came, clamping around my fingers and I knew that I could not hold back my own climax as she writhed under me. I lunged upward and clasped her body to mine, my cock sliding, pushing against her belly, emptying myself between us as we both went rigid, our arms clasped tightly around each other, unwilling, unable to let go now we’ve found each other.

I know who she is now.

“My Victoria.” I whispered against her skin. Mine.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For city girls, there are a few horse terms. An "Entire" is an un gelded male horse.

I came awake listening to the drip, drip, drop of the last bit of rain falling from the eaves, and small birds beginning to twitter after the storm. There was a dim shaft of sunlight pooling on my bed. I was curled alone in bed and the sadness I felt was almost enough to bring tears to my eyes. 

It hadn’t been another dream, had it?

No. No, I was sure he had been here. I rolled and looked, the dent in the pillow next to mine proved that. The door to the bath was open and the light was off. So, not here now. Sigh. I’m not going to lie here and wallow though, he probably just had to go and didn’t want to wake me…

Or he had run from the freaky-dream-lady as quickly as his legs would carry him.

I dragged myself out of bed and grabbed my dressing gown. As I slipped it on, I smelt the faint aroma of my Gran’s perfume, and the warm dressing gown might almost be mistaken for her warm embrace. My eyes pricked with tears as I pulled the robe tightly around me, imagining it was my Gran’s arms wrapped tightly around me.

I don’t really have to be at work today, there’s nothing on my desk but busy work. But I’ve apparently got nothing better to do with the rest of my day… I sighed and headed for the stairs, intending to make some tea before getting dressed.

As I approached the kitchen though, I heard noises. I peered around the doorframe before entering, my heart leaping in my chest. It was Tom, dressed in my brother’s sweat pants and his Harry Potter tee-shirt, going through my cupboards. My heart plummeted as fast as it had leapt.

He hadn’t left. Oh, he hadn’t left me… My eyes tried to well with tears, but I blinked them back rapidly. No crying about miracles!

Suddenly he looked over and spotted me.

“Just in time,” he grinned. “Where do you keep your tea?”

“The cupboard over the kettle.” I said, clearing my throat. I suddenly felt very shy, tugging on the belt of my robe.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, gesturing to the mug he held.

“No, not at all.” I headed towards the kitchen table but paused when I spotted a box of condoms on there. Fairly sure I hadn’t left them there…

“Ah, yes,” Tom grimaced when he realised I had spotted them. “Rather presumptuous of me, I admit, but I knew there was a chemist on the corner, and, well… Say something, please?”

He looked so adorable standing there, worried that I would be upset with him. I laughed, which made him look even more worried..

“Do you want to know what I thought when I saw them?”

“Possibly…?“

“I believe the exact thought went something like: ‘Oh, thank Christ!’. And I think I’m relieved that you didn’t have these in your pocket before you went out for your run!”

Tom laughed with me, turning away when the kettle boiled to make our drinks.

"What, in case I ran down a willing dog walker? I’ll have you know that I’m not that easy, darling!”

I grinned. "Despite evidence to the contrary…“ I murmured. Tom chuckled.

I sat down and looked at the box; ‘Ribbed for her Pleasure’ they announced. Well. That, coupled with his sense of humor… Tom was sounding more and more like a keeper. Though I don’t think Tom needs any damn ribs for my pleasure…

He joined me a second later, placing my mug before me, and looking down at me. He looked at the other chair a moment and back at me. 

"By all means, make yourself at home.” I said, wryly. "Sit.“

His lips twitched and he snorted lightly as he sat. Tom can do ‘wry’, too.

“So,” Tom began, and stopped.

“So,” I agreed. 

This…is awkward. I fidgeted with my cup as I stared into the steam curling off the surface of the tea. I’ve no idea what to do next. The Dream had always ended when I came! So, now what?? It’s too late to pretend innocence to avoid the embarrassment of admitting that I’ve been having raunchy sex dreams about him. That would probably be the demure, lady-like thing to do. A vision of him with his head between my thighs crashes into my brain. Yes, it’s far too late for demure. 

Tom sat looking steadily at me. I have to admire his, hmm… self confidence, in simply going for it. Or rather, in going for me. I wonder if he always plunges headfirst into… I snickered. I guess he does! Or at least, did today…

“We’ve both been dreaming about each other, right? Your reaction to me wasn’t just… You know I’m an actor, right?”

“Yes, of course know you’re an actor, ‘Henry’!” I grinned, “… and I have been having some very…peculiar dreams lately.” I admitted. 

I dropped my face into my hands, feeling heat scald my cheeks as it struck me that he must have been having the same sorts of dreams. About me? Dear god.   
“I… I didn’t realise you were dreaming about me, too.”

“The thought hadn’t occurred to me either,” he confessed. “Although sometimes it oddly felt like I was part of someone else’s, well, your dream.”

I nodded in agreement.

“I wonder why…or how?” he asked.

We’d only just met, did I really want to get into the whole ‘my grandmother was a witchy woman with the second sight’ thing? What if it frightened him off? I looked at him a bit warily, but his eyes were so warm, and he really had been quite…unworried and accepting of this whole bizarre experience.

Gran’s perfume wafted to my nose again and I inhaled deeply, allowing it to calm me, just as she had calmed me for so many years. Or maybe it was just my imagination. But my imagination appears to have sat Tom Hiddleston in my kitchen, so…

“My Gran…” I drew another deep breath and plunged on. “My Gran always said she had the ‘sight’. She used to tell me that I would dream of my 'ain true love'… I never thought she might have meant literally…or that you would get dragged into it!” 

“Well,” he sipped his tea to give himself time to think. “There’s no denying that something weird -and wonderful!- has happened between us.” He met my gaze and held it. “I don’t know what this is, Victoria, but I think I would very much like to find out.” He slid his hand across the table and took mine with a little squeeze.

I smiled in reply, glad he hadn’t run screaming from the mad girl with the witchy Gran. Who might be haunting this house.

"Do you know, I think I met your Gran once. It was last year, in the fall. I was out in my back garden, pottering about when I heard a lot of swearing…” His face creased in a grin, his eyes lighting up. "I looked over my garden fence and there was an elderly lady treed in that apple tree, swearing like a navvy.“ He gestured out my kitchen window to the garden. 

He affected Gran’s voice. "Well don’t just stand there, young man! I could do with a hand! If you would just fetch back that ladder for me…!”

I sat stunned, a hand over my mouth. Tom had done a spot on impression of my Gran. A chill ran up my spine, and the sob I’d tried to hold in worked its way out between my fingers.

“Sorry, sorry! I don’t mean to…” I brushed away the tears on my cheeks and tried to laugh. 

"You sounded just like her, my Gran. She could be awfully acerb. Especially with men! Sorry.“ 

Tom chuckled, leaned back in his chair, and stretched his long legs out under the table, clearly making himself comfortable to tell his tale. 

"So it wasn’t just me then! No worries, darling. In any case, I climbed over the fence- following her exact directions, mind!- ” he waved a finger, “and put the ladder up for her. She insisted that I pick up the apples that had spilled out of her basket all around the grass before she would let me help her out of the tree!” He shook his head reminiscently and laughed.

“When she was safely back on the ground she told me to stand up straight, then cocked her head to the side and tapped her lip thoughtfulIy…” Tom imitated the gesture. I giggled. I’d seen Gran do just that a thousand times.

“She proceeded to stroll around me, inspecting me from head to toe. I thought she might check my teeth and ask if I was entire!” He dropped into his impression of Gran, his voice and inflection nearly perfect.

“Well. You’re a bit over-tall. Not bad to look at. Polite to rude old ladies. You take direction well.” (Tom clicked his tongue and pursed his lips as Gran often did). "You might be some use to my granddaughter…“ Then she took her basket of apples out of my hands and said, 'Thank you, young man. Don’t break anything important going back over the fence!’ …And marched herself through into the house without a backwards glance!”

I laughed delightedly.

“Oh yes! That was my Gran, alright! Um, perhaps now would be the best time to warn you…people have often remarked that I’m very like the old girl.” I bit my lip, wondering if he’d bolt now.

He threw his head back and laughed, apparently not put off at all. 

“Would you like to check my teeth?” Then his eyebrow twitched up and he got a wicked gleam in his eye.

“You already know that I’m entire…” he purred.

I set my empty teacup down on the table and frowned at him.

“Well…to be quite honest, I was rather distracted at the time. I didn’t get a chance to check too carefully…” I stuck my tongue in my cheek as I regarded him curiously.

“Well,” he stood. "We can’t have that now, can we? Your Gran did expect that I’d be 'some use’ to you, after all!“

He stooped and pulled me up out of my chair- and kept going, hefting me up with his arms around my bottom, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically as I squealed in surprise.

He started out of the kitchen, grinning to beat the devil.

"Aren’t you forgetting something, Thomas?” I asked sweetly.

“Ah. Right.” He turned back and picked up the box of condoms, juggling me whilst I giggled, finally depositing them between my breasts before reseating his arm under my arse.

He peppered me with kisses as he carried me upstairs to my room, setting me on my feet and plucking the box of condoms from me to toss on the bed.  
He grinned down at me.

“Now. Teeth first, or…?”

“Well, I can hardly do a proper inspection with all that tack in the way…” I trailed off.

Tom’s smile faded as he pulled his tee shirt off slowly, and folded it carefully while I watched the muscles bunch and glide under his skin. That runner’s build of his… He leaned around where I stood to set the shirt on the bed, his collarbone coming tantalisingly close as he bent while I decided what to bite first. I put my head on the side and tapped my lip, thinking about all the things I want to do with him. To him.

Tom watched me deliberate for a moment and suddenly shivered, looking about the room. He turned back to me with wide eyes.

“Excuse me a moment, darling.” He strode to the bedroom door and opened it, once more glancing around. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled ruefully at me. Then he called out.

“Missus, if you’re here… I’ll thank you to confine yourself to the ground floor for the time being, if you please! Thank you.” He paused a moment and then shut the door with a snap, turning back to me with a sheepish shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve already been inspected by your grandmother. I don’t fancy the idea of her hanging about and…” He pursed his lips searching for the word he wants, “critiquing my performance. So…” He shrugged again.

I didn’t laugh. I understood perfectly. Gran’s presence is always so strong in the house for me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Tom might feel it, too. I suppose he could just be humouring me, but I thought he’d looked genuinely spooked.

“Well, if Gran was about…your request was polite and respectful, I expect that she’d have acquiesced. Anyway, it can’t hurt, right?” I smiled up at him. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes…“

I reached for him, sliding my hands up his smooth chest to twine behind his neck and going up on my toes to kiss him. Tom’s arms came around me and pressed my body close as he took control of the kiss, stroking my tongue with his, his hand moving to my hair. Something hard and insistent moved against my belly.  
Breaking the kiss I stepped back and set my hands on the low slung waistband of his sweat pants, toying my fingers around the elastic at his hips.

"About that inspection…” I smirked. Tom nodded slowly, his eyes instantly hooded.

I slid my hands under the waistband at his bum, caressing his muscular and very tight backside. I spent a brief academic moment appreciating what a daily run does to arse muscles, and then dipped further, pushing the fabric below the swell of his cheeks. Sliding my hands around to his hips, wrist deep into his trousers, I carefully pushed them down his thighs, taking care not to snag…anything, as I stared up into his eyes.

I slid to my knees, pulling the trousers down with me as I went, but still looking up into his face, watching his reactions. I watched his jaw harden and twin creases appear between his eyebrows. He regarded me intently as I pulled each of his feet free. I put my hands on his tense, rock hard thighs, my eyes never leaving his. Waiting. For permission, I suppose.

Tom’s hand smoothed over my cheek as he stared back into my eyes, and curled around the back of my head. He looked so… mesmerizing. Tom nodded and his eyes dropped to my mouth. The muscle in his jaw ticked.

For the first time I dropped my gaze to his groin. I bit my lip. The horse references were too damn near the mark. Dear god, what am I going to do with all that?  
I let my hand drift up from his thigh and traced the large vein on his cock with my eyes as I breathed in the musky scent of clean male. Tom. Thomas. I leaned forward and delicately traced the same vein with my tongue. Tom hissed in a sharp breath and this cock twitched under my tongue.

I rose higher on my knees and swiped my tongue over the head, lapping up his taste. Looking up to watch his eyes fly open, latching onto mine, I closed my lips around the head of his cock, my tongue pushing at his foreskin to find that spot. There it is…

I glanced up again and his head was fallen right back. I found myself looking up the long column of his neck and the underside of that strong jaw, his adam’s apple moving as he swallowed and groaned. I had to close my eyes at the sight, and pay attention to what I was about.

Swirling my tongue around the head, I gave a suck or two before sliding down the shaft. God, feeling the soft velvet of his skin sheathing the steel hardness as it glides so smoothly against my tongue and palate…there’s too much, and yet not enough. I don’t know that I can cope with more, but I’m going to try, oh yes.  
I slid up and down him several more times, breathing deeply before taking in a large lungful of air, grasping his arse cheeks for leverage and sucking him deep. The head of his cock brushes the back of my throat and I swallow hard to prevent my natural gag reflex. 

“Fuck!” Tom exclaims, and both his hands clutch at my head, holding me still. I can hear him pant above me, but my concentration is rapidly narrowing to my mouthful of Tom. I rubbed along the underside of his cock with the slight movement my tongue could make while my mouth was so stretched. His hips give a small thrust into my throat and then he’s pulling back, letting me breathe. I lick up and down his shaft as I pull more air, and then I plunge down on him again.

“Victoria…” He whispers reverently. Holding my head still again, he slides gently back and in again, carefully allowing me to breathe. I can feel the muscles under my hands tensing tighter and tighter, as he moves. 

He gently disengages, stepping back, leaving my mouth shockingly empty. Stooping, he pulls me up by my elbows and kisses me passionately, his mouth trailing from mine, down my neck, across my chest. He picks me up and lays me back across the bed, standing over me, between my knees, watching as he leans over me and cups a breast, brushing his thumb over the nipple.

He takes the other in his mouth, licking teasingly until I whine with my need, then gives a strong suck. My back arches as his mouth tugs on the string that seems to run from my nipple through my body to my clit. 

"Thomas…please…“ I beg.

Running his hand down my body, he slips two fingers into my folds to find me wet and ready. I bit down and sucked on my lower lip hard, looking up at him. I must be mad… How could I possibly be here, with this man, his hand delicately stroking across my pussy lips, finding the quiet, secret places that make me writhe? No, this must be a dream…

His fingers dipped into me, drawing out my moisture and circling my clit slowly, teasingly.

My hips lifted, seeking a firmer touch. Oh, what the hell, real or not; I don’t, desperately don’t, want him to stop touching there. Or there. Tom lifted his head from my breast and watched me as his fingers moved, watched and noted when I shivered or moaned at his changing touches.

I raised my hands, grasping at his chest, fingernails scraping against the smooth silken surface, unable to find purchase with which to pull him down onto me.

"Dear god, Thomas, please fuck me!” I gasped, losing all control and scrabbling with one hand blindly around on the bed, searching for the box of condoms, knowing that if he doesn’t get inside me soon I will combust.

Tom chuckled and took the box from my hands before I tore it and its contents to shreds.

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you? You know what they say, darling…”

I clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t you dare say it, Thomas! Or I swear you will find out more than you ever wanted to know about 'delayed gratification’!”

Tom laughed against my hand and his tongue swiped across my palm as he ripped the box open and pulled a foil package from it. He held it up, and my shaking hand tried to take it.

He laughed again and kissed me.

“I think I’ll do this…"he said as he tore the foil open. "Who knows where it would end if you tried in this state?”

All I could do was bite my lip and watch as he deftly seated the thing. Tom lifted my chin and kissed me deeply, reaching for my hand and pulling it to him until I grasped his covered length.

He gasped and moaned as my fingers curled around him. I felt a fresh wave of confidence and arousal at the sound, and stroked him several times.

His hand covered mine, halting my motion. "Now, love.“ he murmured against my lips and he pushed forward, probing my entrance. He pulled my hand away and began a slow slide, pushing into me. Don’t think about horses, Victoria! Don’t think…! Dear god, so stretched and full…

He waited a moment for me to adjust, panting into my ear, and then began to stroke smoothly into me. Oh, yesss.

Tom’s hand went under me, grasping and lifting me, changing my angle until I moaned and clenched around him. Then he did it again. And again.

I lost myself in the haze of sensation Tom created, playing my body. One hand slipped between us and his fingers bracketed my clit, sliding against it with each thrust of his hips.

"Thomas!” I gasped.

“That’s right, love. Come for me…” he crooned in my ear.

More and more, higher and higher, harder… his thumb brushed right over the top of my clit and I came completely unraveled with a cry, pulsing around him so hard it felt like he grew larger, all my consciousness focused on those square centimeters of our flesh.

Tom grunted in my ear as he felt my internal muscles gripping and fluttering around him, increasing his pace as he gripped my hips, flying into me.  
He went rigid with his own climax for long moments, head thrown back with his own cry. Tom collapsed on top of me and I held him tightly, both of us spasming against each other in ever diminishing ripples, breaths stuttering.

I watched Tom’s eyes fly open almost in a panic. I know the relief in his face is mirrored in mine, as we both realise that we are still in each other’s arms, not in our lonely beds. I swallowed sudden tears.

Tom’s hand caressed the side of my face, looking down on me tenderly.

“Promise me, Victoria. Promise me that you will never leave me sleeping…”

I squeezed myself tightly around him and smiled into an unlooked for future.

I can do that.


End file.
